


Forgive me Father

by sunday_star



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Except When It Doesn't, Female Matt Murdock, Found Family, Gen, Injury, Mother Hen Claire Temple, older sister Electra, teenage Matt Murdock, teenage vigilantism, will pretty much follow season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 05:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunday_star/pseuds/sunday_star
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Matilda “Matt” Murdock, has been away from her home town of Hell’s Kitchen long enough. After she hears word of the destruction that be felled her father’s city during the “incident”, she figures its time to go home and use her skills for good. Things go well for a while, Matt rents an apartment from the money she borrowed (stole) from Stick, she even gets an internship at a small but homey law firm, Nelson and Page, who are willing to “accommodate” to her blindness. But when she starts investigating the disappearance of some young women, she finds the corruption of the city goes far deeper than anticipated. And if Matt hopes to save anyone, she will have to go deeper herself.





	1. The Fire in our Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So in this world, Matt a seventeen year old girl, did end up spending most of her childhood with Stick. Eventually, she met Electra and the two became very close, even thinking of each other as sisters.

_The tap of her cane echoed through the church, reverberating off the wood and stained glass in waves of red sound. There had been a time when she knew the layout of the pews like the back of her hand, but nothing compared to seeing the church like this. She could smell the perfume of the old woman who had been sitting with her prayer book a few minutes ago, feel the shifting of the floor boards -if only slightly—that told her the age and strength of the wood. Without turning she could tell the man she had just past had bent down to pick up a coin he had dropped before returning it to his coat pocket._

_Turning, she tapped up to the wooden box and –after a second of searching- found the doorknob and slid inside the confection box._

_“Forgive me father,” Matilda Murdoch said, “for I have sinned”_

* * *

The cool air rushed her as she controlled her fall to the lower roof top. Landing in a roll she wasted no time getting her barring before she sprinted towards the edge of the roof. The cars bellow were inching along, the city noise would have overwhelmed her several years ago but now she found it easy to tune it all out in favor of her run across the roof tops. It felt good to stretch her legs, Matt thought, especially after a long day at the office. 

She jogged to a stop on the top of her apartment, and went for the stairs that led down into it. Roof access had been one of the many pluses of the apartment and it felt good to have a space all to herself. Once in the main living area, Matt made for the fridge and opened a bottle of water. She had been doing laps around the city roof tops just to get to know the layout again. It had been slow going. Most of the streets, she remembered from her childhood but it was just so different up on the roof tops. It could take weeks before she knew it well enough to travel by instinct, but Matt had confidence in herself.

Sitting down in the middle of the living room, Matt steadied her breath and began meditating.

* * *

A lot of Matt’s early training with Stick had been deciding what details about environment were important and turning out the background noise. If she’s not careful, all her senses will impload on her brain and render her completely useless. Meditating had always helped her sort through everything. Sometimes it felt nice to detach her brain from the constant barrage of scenes, especially in the city. Cars and voice became background noise that felt relaxing, rather than piercing. While meditating, Matt allowed herself to let go, which is why she almost missed the screeching cry for help.

She listened, and it wasn’t until the second cry that she jumped to her feet. Grabbing the wrap she had been using to cover the top half of her face, she sprinted for the roof access, adrenalin pumping as a third more despite cry broke out through the sky. The cool evening air rushed over Matt’s skin, and she took off towards the source. True night had fallen, and to be honest she had no clue how much time had passed between now and her return to the apartment.

A car engine started, two men, armed, three girls, bound and scared. Matt wasted no time in chasing after the car. It didn’t take long to figure where they were going. Matt crouched on the top of the storage crate, listening to the van (she had a better image of how big and what type of car it was now that she was closer) pull into the maze cargo. The mask had been pulled over her head and secured it with a knot the back.

Matt's dark whipped softly at her jaw and she silently cursed it, wishing there was time to braid the hair back.

Stick had always pestered her too cut it off. _"What do you care what you look like?"_ he'd tell her, _"all it will ever do is slow you down."_ Electra would always defend her choice to keep it long. Besides, she had twice as much hair as Matt.

A screeching break tore through the docks and she tensed. They moved the girls to the edge of an empty cargo box, waving around a taser, threatening them. Matt felt her lips curl up slightly. This was going to be fun. 


	2. Chapter 2

_It was about four months after her father’s death when Stick found her. Matt wasn’t sure exactly how he had found her, let alone know that she would be capable of the rigorous training he gave her. But after five months of “lessons” as Stick had told the nuns, he had finally deemed her ready to present to his colleagues. She met him at the park after school one day. A car had come to pick them up, the driver not saying a word the whole drive to the compound. Matt could tell the man was nervous, but she could not tell if it was because of Stick or their destination. Once inside, Stick placed a calloused hand on her shoulder, leading her towards the towering room that centered the building._

_Stick’s colleagues were already gathered around a training mat (Stick and her had never spared with a mat before, he always told her stuff like that would only be a handicap). There were five of them in total, three men, two women. No one talked, but that was okay, Stick had already told her what would happen. This was all a test to see if she was worth the effort._

_Matt took off her shoes and stepped onto the edge of the mat. She could feel gazes on her, even if she couldn’t exactly see their eyes. Nerves boiled over, making her shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. What was taking so long?_

_The man to the far left scoffed, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “This is what we were called here for? A child? A crippled, useless child?” Matt ground her jaw, nerves turning to anger. Stick came to her defense.  
“I’m surprised after knowing me for so long,” Stick called in that faux calm voice, “you still assume blindness is a disability. And as for her age,” Matt swore Sick’s focus changed to one of the women standing off to the left, “we all know that doesn’t matter in the long run.” The woman gave a small huff, crossing her arms, but didn’t say anything. “And since you’re so confident Erik, why don’t you have a go?”_

_The man grumbled some words that would have made the Sisters faint, but obliged, stepping onto the mat opposite her. One of the other observers vocally signaled them to begin. Matt lowered into her stance, just like she was taught, blocking out everything except the man in front of her. He was about as tall as Stick, meaning she stood at his stomach. His breathing was steady, confident. But there was something else. Perhaps embarrassment at being called out by Stick. Or being asked to fight a little blind girl._

_Matt must have looked distracted, because he took that moment to attack, closing the distance between them in a few strides. He was planning a lower body attack, probably afraid to compromise his balance leaning down to grab at her. His mistake. Matt dodged the kick, landing a solid hit to his abdomen before spinning away towards the center of the mat. He whorled around to face her, obviously irritated to have been out stepped by a child. Breath hitching he threw back his shoulder aiming for a good punch._

_It lasted like that for what must have been a few minutes. The man throwing his weight around and Matt evading, occasionally getting some hits in. Not enough to hurt, but enough to infuriate her opponent. He was getting more and more agitated as the seconds ticked by. She had just preformed a particularly complex flip when all that agitation caught her in the chest with a well-placed kick. She landed on her back hard, wind escaping her lings in a strangled, reverse gasp. Her hearing ringed uncomfortably and suddenly there was a heavy boot on her chest, keeping her from regaining her breath. He leaned over her, goading._

_“Gottcha ya little worm.” Matt growled up at him. No, no, NO. She was a Murdoch, Murdochs always get back up, always. Matt struggled and squirmed as hard as she could but the man wasn’t letting up. “Maybe this’ll teach the old man from wasting our time on you little brats.” He leaned in harder and Matt could almost see the sadistic smile light up on his face at her whimper._

_Then Stick whispered “Come on Mattie,” in a voice only she could hear, and suddenly she could hear her dad saying, “not how you hit the mat, it’s how you get up.” A fire surged in her aching chest. She was not a waste of time._

_Matt drove her fist up into the soft tissue of the eyelid, just enough to knock off his balance, then wedged her hands under his boot and drove it forward, using every muscle in her body until his knee made contact with his chest. Suddenly he was the one sprawled out on his back and she was standing over him. Matt wasted no time, ignoring her still dangerously light head and ringing ears, and jumped on him, knees digging into his torso. Rage tore at her, throwing punches down in a hail storm of fists to the face. Matt hit him again and again and again-_

_Someone was pulling her up by the underarms, Matt trashed crying out as she was lifted from the floor._

_“Breath kid, fights over.” It was Stick. She squirmed out of his hold stepping back off the mat, chest still heaving. One of the other men was attempting to help her opponent off the mat, but he shooed away the attention with an angry “get off of me.”_

_The woman in the center was specking._

_“…have a lot to discuss, thank you Matilda.” Matt gave a jerky, small bow and left the room as quickly as she could without running. She knew a “let the adults talk” when she heard one._

* * *

_It didn’t take long for her to find a hiding spot._

_It would have been easy to spy on the adults’ conversation but Matt had no interest in hearing their evaluation of her worth. She already knew she was a disappointment, a mistake. What would Dad say if he saw her now?_

_Matt shook her head, not wanting to think of all the ways she had let him down today, losing control like that._

_She regretted not having thought to grab her shoes as she left, the grim of the floors uncomfortable on her bare feet. Sliding to the floor of the empty room she leaned her head back against the wall, trying to steady her still ragged breath._

_There was someone coming down the hall, soft footsteps echoing like drums off the walls. It was the woman Stick had not-addressed before the fight. Matt prayed she would walk past the room, but apparently, she didn’t deserve to be heard by anyone today because the door creaked open and the woman stepped in. How had she even known which room Matt was in?  
The woman slid down next to her, which Matt supposed was a good thing because her brain was still too foggy to even attempt eye contact._

_“Is he okay?” Matt asked._

_“Who? Erik?” Her voice was younger than she had imagined, and had an accent like nothing she’d ever heard before. “He has a thick skull. Besides he deserved everything you gave him."_

_Matt grimaced. She could feel his dried blood on her knuckles._

_“So,” the woman continued, “where’d Stick find you?” There was a hint of humor in her voice, as if she found the whole thing funny._

_“…an orphanage.” Matt said after a pause. The woman nodded like that made complete sense._

_“He picked me up off the streets. Took me in, trained me just like you.”_

_Matt tried not to show her surprise. She had assumed she had been a one time case, made special because of her powers._

_The woman laughed and Matt was suddenly very aware that she was armed with at least three knives. She stood, offering a hand out for Matt to take._

_“Come on,” she reached down and grabbed Matt’s hand when she made no move to take it, “let’s go see the verdict, shall we.” The woman tugged Matt down the hall. “I’m Electra, by the way.”_

* * *

“Hey Matt, you with me?” Matt startled out of her thoughts.

“Yeah sorry, Foggy, just thinking.”

“Phhh, I don’t pay you to think, Murdock.” He said lightheartedly. Matt scoffed

“You don’t pay me at all, Mr. Nelson.” Matt shuffled the papers on the desk, finding the right pile. “I pulled up the review of landlord cases for the state of New York, which you should probably look over. And Miss Ortiz called, wanted me to ask you if banana bread was sufficient pay for yesterday.”

“Banana bread? I was looking forward to some brownies or pumpkin pie- ouch!” Karen had walked into the room, whacking Foggy over the head with a newspaper.

“Tell Miss Ortiz banana bread would be lovely and we’re just happy to help.” Karen said and Matt laughed at Foggy’s annoyed grumbles.

“Sure thing Miss Page.” Matt’s smile faltered as she remembered what had been bugging her earlier. Since the first time she stopped those girls from getting shipped off to god knows where, she had been cracking down on the Russian’s and their “shipping” operation. Everything had been mostly going smoothly. A few cuts and bruises on her part, and a few broken bones on theirs, but the victims had all gotten home safe, and that was all that mattered. At least until last night.

“Did you guys hear anything about the Russian’s that kidnapped that boy the other night?”

She could feel Foggy’s wince. “Yeah,” he said, sobered, “I heard they beat his Dad right in front of him. I swear this city gets crazier by the minute.” 

“Don’t worry Matt,” Karen said, “I’m sure they’ll bring him home.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. She had already made plans to hunt down the bastards as soon as the sun went down. Nothing would get between her and that boy.

“Why don’t we head over to Josie’s tonight, get your mind off of it, huh? I’m sure she makes a mean ice water.” Foggy said smirk dripping into his voice. Matt groaned, regretting telling them she was twenty instead of twenty-one. But anything had been better than saying she was barely seventeen. Besides, something tole her Josie would have zero problem serving a minor.

“No thanks, I’ve got some plans tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I maaaay have gone a little overboard with that flash back. I kind of left my self with no time for, you know, actual plot stuff but don't worry I'll get back to it next time. (hopefully)
> 
> P.S. I'm not quite sure if I like my Electra but tell me what you guys think. I tried to mirror little Matt's fight scene off of the one little Electra has in the show. Just something to bring them closer. 
> 
> And if you have any questions about the story feel free to ask me.
> 
> Coming up: Matt gets her butt handed to her and we meet the world's favorite nurse!!!!


	3. Salt in our Tears

Not two hours later Matt was dressed in her night clothes, hair braided down her back and mask tied tight at the back of her head. Foggy and Karen must have sensed her anxiousness because they had told her to go home early.

Any other day she would have protested- just because she was younger did not mean she couldn’t handle long hours, she spent most of her nights out any ways- but today, Matt had a job to do.  
The evening air felt comfortable on her skin.

It was relatively quiet, even for her standards. The obnoxious bill board had yet to turn on, the couple across the street- who always started their evening with a healthy screaming match- were out, and most of the traffic was congregated in the rest of Manhattan. 

It was… nice. 

Matt hadn’t known much quiet since her return to Hell’s Kitchen. Mostly she had been too busy to miss it. After helping Karen and Foggy take down Union Allied- and maybe saving Karen’s life after they had sent someone to kill her, but they didn’t know it was Matt- she had spent her days helping them out. There had been plenty of rules she had to learn, even just being a law _assistant_ but they were doing good work. Between that and her nighttime outings, there hadn’t been the time for quiet.

Not since she had left the Chaste. Matt supposes she should count herself lucky. She had expected to return home, alone for the first time since her dad had died, but she had found friends, good friends.  
The route to the Russian controlled section came easier than she expected.

Several weeks of frequenting the docks had made the way engrained in her body, and she was grateful for the time to reflect on happier things. But now Matt had a job to do.

* * *

Her first mistake had been following the first Russians she had found leaving the docks. Matt had thought it was suspicious, as they were leaving right as the sun set, the usual time for criminal classes to draw out of the cracks. But she hadn’t been thinking about the smart moves- which would have involved information gathering and surveillance- she had been thinking that the life of a child was hanging in the balance.  
When she was around his age, she had been learning how to live in a world without sight. Now he was facing down death or worse.

Matt wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let anything happen to that boy. 

So she tailed the them, vaulting over the rooftops at a good pace, hoping that they would lead her straight to where they were keeping him.

Her second mistake had been assuming that taking out the seven men guarding the warehouse, would be the hardest part of her night, aside from getting one of the thugs talk. (To be honest she was looking forward to that last part) 

Matt had just locked the fourth unconscious man in a janitor’s closet when she heard the phone call-

“Gabriel and Abram are out cold. The Mask’s here.”

There was no need to understand the response to know what was said. Moments later, doors burst open all over the warehouse and people stormed in. She could hear the fall of boots and the pants of breath from her place in the supply closet. Some carried knives. Most carried guns. 

They kept coming and Matt knew she could not stay. She was good, but she was not ready to take on half the Russians in Hell’s Kitchen. She would be no help to the boy if she were to be gutted like a pig.  
Matt back peddled, listening closely, trying to find an exit route. Breathing softly, like Stick had taught her, Matt stretched her senses, reaching out through every hallway, every hammering heart. There was a door on the other side of the warehouse, not being blocked or stormed through. If she could make it through the warehouse, past all the Russians, she would make a clean get away. 

So in a mad dash down the hall, Matt took no mercy on the men, using speed and surprise to her advantage. 

Her third mistake was allowing herself to be corralled into an open space. The hallway she had chosen opened up into an empty storage room, empty, metal shelves lined up in rows were the only cover she got. Already, men were pouring in from halls and doorways, unorganized, but counting on numbers and muscle. Matt was surrounded. A man stepped forward, breath changing. She tensed, head slightly bowed, listening for movement.

"There's no way out." He said, words choppy with accent. "We are supposed to take you in alive. I suggest you come quietly." The man paused expecting a reply, she supposed.

"Where's the boy?" Her voice sounded hoarse, raw, but not nervous. Presence is everything.

He snorted out a chuckle. Guess he’s heard that rule too. "What does it matter? You'll both be dead soon enough," she could hear him sneer, "little girl." 

The man didn't see the piece of metal that hit him in between the eyes. She ran at the closest group of men not wasting any time. 

The first five men were down before, any of them had anytime to draw weapons. 

Apparently, alive meant no guns, but knifes were fair game. Probably didn’t plan on keep her alive for long, just long enough to figure what she knew, who she was.

Who her loved ones were.

Matt swallowed a lump in her throat, mind snapping to Karen and Foggy.

She wouldn't let that happen. 

She threw all of her body into the jab, temporally winding the man, before whirling around to send a kick to the man's jaw, sending all his weight onto the thugs behind him. Matt's breath was getting heavy, her muscles protested. She had allowed her self to back up close too a wall. Not close enough to be pushed up against it, but enough to insure an attack from behind would not slip through her perception. 

A knife sheened through the air. 

Pain burned through her torso and she stumbled back, slamming against the wall.

She’d been stabbed.

Stunned, the taste of iron nearly made her gag. Her knees caved in without asking, and she slid down the wall, gasping. They were closing in on her. Her stomach reeled. A simple knife wound wouldn’t be the end of it. Slapping a hand on the floor and twisting her hips, she kicked up, ignoring the gush of her own warm blood. Her foot connected with a chest and she heard a satisfying "ooof," and the knife clatter to the ground. But gravity took hold of her body harder than she expected, and the move that would normally land her on her feet had her crashing to the floor. She gasped as the wound shrieked at her to stay down. But that was the one thing she didn't know how to do.

A toe of a boot collided with her good side, and she curled instinctively in on her self. Another boot to the back of her head and another to her spine. Each hit lit her bones on fire. Shin, fore head, shoulder.

"Dostatochno!" 

The order had the swarm backing away like scolded dogs. Hands wrapped around her arms and yanked her up, until she was about waste height. She ground her teeth, swallowing a groan as the gaping hole in her side stretched. A hand reached under her chin and pulled her face up.

She hadn't realized her head was down in the first place. 

The man from before was shaking his head, tisking. His breath made her gag but she hid it with a jerk of her chin, trying to free herself from the hand.

“This is why little girl’s should stay home, in man’s world.”

His hand was reaching for her mask. A growl ripped out of the back of her throat. Aw _hell_ no.

Using her core she pulled her feet beneath her, legs bent and -ignoring her screaming ribs- launched herself up. Her foot wacked the man’s face, whacking him back. Matt landed the back flip, arms twisted free of the two surrounding her and went to work. 

* * *

She made it a block and a half away from the warehouse when she collapsed. 

Pressing her shoulder on the brick building next to her, she tried to focus on breathing.

Her perception was wavering, but Matt could hear the start of engines and the bark of voices. They would find her if she didn't move, but her body wasn't listening. Wind brushed against her hair, pushing a newspaper down the road. Somewhere there was a clink of silverware on plates, people murmuring, tires screeching. She couldn't bring herself to care.

 _"So what? You got stabbed? Beat?"_ Matt startled. It was Sticks voice. She must have lost more blood than she thought. _"Tough. The world's not gonna suddenly be easy to live in, just cause you wanna play the hero."_

She groaned. 

Why couldn't she pass out in peace?

 _"Oh come on."_ It was Electra. _"My little sister can take on anything, can't you Matilda?"_

Matt swiped her hand weakly, but there was no one there to hit. 

_"It's okay Mattie. It's gonna be okay."_ This voice was whispered but hoarse. The familiarity of it made her chock back a sob. She squeezed her eyes shut against the fabric of her mask. It'd been years, but she would never forget the sound of his voice. _"It's time to get up Mattie."_ The scent of tears mixed with that of her own sweat, as both dripped off her nose.

Matt breathed, biting her tongue in an attempt to distract herself from the pain.

Her legs pressed down and her head swarmed as up became a very vague direction, but the wall could help her stay up and she figured that fifty percent of walking came from letting your foot fall to the ground. It was slow going, but at least she was going. Plus she was a Murdock.

And Murdock's _always_ get up.

The only concept of distance she had was the distance between her and her pursuers. Matt had no idea how far she had gone, just that they were gaining on her. Eventually, they would drive past her stumbling form. There had to be a place to hid. She turned her awareness away from the cars and focused on the alleys around her. 

There. 

It wasn't the most sanitary choice, but it would have to do. Besides, she'd only hide until the Russians past her, then she'd walk home. Some first aid and she’ll be right as rain.  
Matt stumbled over to the ledge and pulled herself over, trying for as much grace as she could muster. She flopped on her back, wincing more from the scent them anything. Most of her wounds had gone numb, but her body appreciated the rest. She might as well have been laying on king bed. Soft, silky sheets... a warm comforter...

* * *

There was a heartbeat that wasn’t her’s, hammering young and scared.

Sweat soaked the fabric covering her face. It was scratchy and uncomfortable, so she pushed it away. The hand flopped down, into the grim. She squirmed trying to get away from it, but even that was too much movement for her. Sensing her vulnerability, nothingness swooped down from its perch and stole her consciousness.

* * *

The heartbeat was back and so was another, more steady one.

Hands were grabbing at her shoulders lifting her up.

All she could think was to get away, to _fight_. She lashed out hitting flesh and jerking away from the hands. But she was too weak and hands held her down before she could get away.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna get you to a hospital. You’re gonna be fine.” It was a woman who spoke. Matt swallowed, even her mouth felt like lead.

“N-no ‘ospital” She managed to slur out. The woman paused then turned to the other heartbeat specking words Matt didn’t understand.

Then she was being lifted. Pain tore through her and she cried out a gurgled scream. They had barely lifted her before she passed out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to google translate, "Dostatochno" means stop or enough in Russian. I always hate resorting to google translate but I thought the story needed it.


	4. Lead in our Bones

When she felt consciousness brush by her, Matt gripped it like a rope and pulled herself up. Her only rose about two inches before it crashed back down to the floor. An involuntary groan of pain rumbled in her throat, gaining the attention of the rooms other occupant. Matt would of startled – she hadn’t heard the woman before she started talking, her perception only extended to the _pain_ and nothing more- but she could hardly move from her place on the floor.

The woman kept talking but Matt could barely register the words, only grunting out mono-syllable responses. 

She had to get out of here, the Russians would not give up their search so easy and she was in no shape to defend herself, let alone some random woman.

“’ve gotta go.” The mumbling was directed more to her unresponsive limbs than anything else. It didn’t do anything miraculous, like get rid of the gnawing pain in her side, but it did seem to spur her lead coated limbs to crawl up her sides and push her torso up.

Gravity was the enemy and she fought it as hard as she would anyone else who sought to keep her down.

Her feet could hardly hold her up and the woman could sense unsteady footing and moved to help her- Matt had no doubts that she could help her should she fall, after all how had she gotten into the room if she had not been carried by the woman, but it was the _principle_ of it all- and Matt waved her off. She stumbled away, carful to avoid the protruding wall when she heard annoyed,

“You wanna leave, door’s that way.” An arm was raised and Matt had to assume she was pointing to a door because she couldn’t see much more than the arm.

She wouldn’t last much longer on her feet, but that was okay if Matt could get far enough away from everyone then no one else would get hurt.

No one else…

Matt hadn’t even realized she’d lost the fight with gravity until her body slammed into the floor painfully. The last thing she heard was a gasp from the woman before she was out again.

* * *

_Matt weighed the bag one hand. The backpack contained everything she owned. She had been surprised, when she first came to the orphanage, how little she had under her name. The now empty apartment she had shared with her father held so much more then just things, memories of easier times and happier days._

_But memories don't fit into backpacks._

_She made one last lap around the room, subconsciously tugging at the corners of the bed sheet. Matt wasn't sure she would miss the orphanage to badly. The sisters had treated her well, but they could do little to help her with the pain and the loneliness._

_Somehow, crazy, unsocial Stick had done that._

_Even if half the time he made her so made that she wanted to punch the smugness out of him, Matt knew the old man cared in his annoying, tough love kind of way._

_"You ready kid?" Speaking of..._

_"Yeah," she said shortly, shouldering the backpack. As she made her way over to the door she had to resist the urge to glance back, that kind of thing did nothing for her unseeing eyes. A small part of her was afraid Stick would somehow know what she did and see the gesture as some form of weakness. That he would change his mind about her and leave again._

_They mad their way down to the front entrance and allowed the receptionist hold the door open for them, keeping up the pretense of helplessness._

_The car pulled up just as they exited the building. Matt wasn't sure how, but the driver always knew when and where to pick them up and it creeped her out slightly at the promptness._

_She hesitated. Getting in the car meant leaving New York, the only home she had ever known, possibly for good. Matt felt ill suddenly. Her grandmother and her father, the only family she had ever known were buried here._

_There was a hand on her arm._

_"I've never left New York before." She kept her voice quiet, not wanting to give away the depth of her emotion. He was quiet for a moment, standing still besides her. Matt thought that might be a good sign. No immediate sarcastic remark, no sharp "suck it up", which was what she was expecting. He sighed._

_"By the time I was your age," he started evenly, "I had already spent a few years in prison, fightin' for bread. I never had a safe place like this." He let out a breathy sigh._

_"I know the world may seem big and loud to you right now," he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "but you and I are gonna make all these ants look small."_

_He made for the car without checking to see if Matt followed him. He didn't need to. Matt tugged the strap of her bag tighter to her shoulder and stepped in the car._


End file.
